don't carry the world upon your shoulders
by Everybody's Starry Eyed
Summary: "We changed again, and yet again, and it was now too late and too far to go back, and I went on. And the mists had all solemnly risen now, and the world lay spread before me." Modern AU. CHANGED TO T RATING.


**Title: **don't carry the world upon your shoulders

**Rating: **M

**Pairing: **Eponine/Enjolras

**Word Count: **12,200+

**Summary: **"We changed again, and yet again, and it was now too late and too far to go back, and I went on. And the mists had all solemnly risen now, and the world lay spread before me."

**Author's Note: **This is my first Les Misérables fic so it may be quite terrible. I tried to keep all the characters in check, but I may have failed with some of them. I'm still trying to get the hang of writing such new characters so I apologize if any of them seem a bit OOC. With that being said, this is also my first M fic ever. I decided to rate it M because there were a lot of trigger topics that I covered and one especially graphic scene that I wrote. It's mostly precautionary, but I believe (besides that one tidbit) that this is more so of a T-rated piece.

This story, while it is Enjonine, is Éponine -centric and a little bit depressing. I will admit it is one of my darker pieces and I hope that I was able to do Éponine and Les Misérables some justice through this. I also reference _Great Expectations _by Charles Dickensa lot throughout the story because I feel that a lot of the quotes properly fit Enjolras and Éponine's relationship. Without further ado, enjoy the story!

**. . .**

_For well, you know it is the fool who plays it cool_

_By making his world a little colder _

_. . ._

Éponine looked around the small room in the dark, making sure that she wasn't forgetting anything of significance. Her back was hunched thanks to the slanted ceiling that hovered over her bed as she searched nearby drawers for anything else that she could possibly need. Her torn bag lay on top of the cardboard known as her bed and she was shoving clothes and books into it every so often. Her movements were calculated, as if they were choreographed to make absolutely no sound. As she danced around the room, her feet seemed as light as feathers on the wooden floorboards beneath her.

Tonight was the fateful night of Éponine's escape.

The Thénardier household was a nightmare; everyday she was there was spent in fear. The bruises and scars that littered her skin were proof enough that her life was rough. She was tired of waking up under her thin sheets, curled in dread as she waited for her father to barge in and yell at her for a number of things that weren't entirely her fault. She was done with her life now; she needed a change.

Over the past few months, she stole a small chunk of the money she earned through the odd jobs her father provided (all of which she were ashamed of) and stuffed it under her mattress to hide it from her father. He demanded that all of her profits would be given to him in return for the crappy shelter and meager food she was provided. It was risky to keep this money when her father could figure out her scheme any day, but it was needed if she wanted to get out of here - and she _really_ fucking did. Now, she had collected a little less than five hundred euros, which was approximately enough to tie her over for a couple of weeks until she found a job.

The only setback to her plan was her siblings. Her brother, Gavroche, lived on his own with some other _gamins _but her sister, Azelma, was in no condition to live on her own with their parents. She was barely sixteen and with Éponine gone, her father would surely take his rage out on her. Even though she tried, she couldn't bring Azelma to her side. If she tried to bring up leaving their "home", Azelma would quickly bring up of a list of everything that could possibly go wrong and _why_ they would go wrong.

Although Éponine hated the thought of leaving Azelma alone, she wasn't going to spend the rest of her life stuck in the Thénardier household. What more would her father make her do? It was bad enough that he had sold her off to Montparnasse when she was Azelma's age. At least her father had been kind enough – or at least kind in his own malicious way – to not force her to work at _the docks,_ but what if he was in desperate need of money? Éponine knew that day was soon and she wasn't sticking around for it.

She heard the front door of their small apartment slam open. Éponine was rooted in her place, her body rigid from the sound of her father's heavy footsteps as he entered the household. He wasn't supposed to be home until around midnight; the sun had only set an hour or two ago. Her father's insistent yelling at her mother brought her back to reality as she packed the last of her belongings into her bag and zipped it up.

"_Éponine!_" Thénardier screeched from a few rooms over. Her heart rate picked up as she tried in vain to pry the window open. It was early summer and the sweltering heat was beginning to settle in; it was just her luck that the doors and windows were already sticking. Her fingers were somewhat wedged under the wood as her father stumbled down the hallway, no doubt already hammered after his meeting with his gang, the Patron-Minette.

"_Éponine!_" he called again, his voice tight with rage. "Get out 'ere, you little whore!"

Éponine began to panic as she struggled to open the window. It squeaked as it rose inch by inch, causing her to flinch at the attention she was surely drawing to herself. Finally, she opened the window wide enough to squeeze through. Stepping out onto the fire escape, she quickly made her way down the metal staircase as her father continued to shout from inside.

"_Éponine!_"

As soon as her feet touched the pavement, she darted to a nearby alleyway and ran for her life. The bag that was slung over her shoulders bounced against her spine with every step she took. Her breathing was heavy as she continued to sprint down abandoned streets and alleys. Continuously looking over her shoulder for her father or any of his gang members, she didn't stop until she was absolutely positive that she was a good ten blocks away from the Thénardier household.

She leaned against the brick wall of a building to catch her breath. Miraculously, she was able to escape the clutches of her father for now. There was no doubt in her mind that he would send his men to look for her and bring her back to him. The thought of paying the price for her escape was enough to make her blood run cold.

These worries would have to be faced another time, for Éponine's only concern at the moment was finding shelter for the night. In her haste to leave, she forgot about where she was going to stay until she found a permanent residence. She took in her surroundings and noticed that the nearest motel was another two miles from where she was. She could swindle her way with the tenant and bargain for a cheap room for the night until she found a small apartment.

With her head held high, she began to trudge in the direction of the motel, sleep heavy on her mind.

. . .

A week later, Éponine had a shitty apartment on the wrong side of town. There was a small kitchenette that had a barely working stove and a moldy refrigerator that smelled like seaweed and onions mixed together. Her bathroom was as tiny as a closet with tile that was once a pristine white but now was yellow from grime. The shower's drain had some funky brown shit stuck in it, which made Éponine want to throw up every time she stepped in to wash herself.

Her bedroom was only slightly bigger than the bathroom with peeling wallpaper and a window that faced an alleyway and wouldn't open no matter how hard she tried. The mattress that the landlord had offered her for half the price was thin and pushed up against the wall. Shamefully, this was the best bed that Éponine had ever slept on although she still had kinks in her lower back whenever she woke up. Her belongings lined the wall opposite of her mattress; this consisted of all the books that she packed, her measly stack of clothes, and an old jewelry box with a lock that held all of her money.

Along with her new apartment, she was able to land a job that provided a decent weekly salary. Beforehand, she had gone to _thirteen_ different retail places and had been rejected by every single one. She was pretty sure it was because of her ratty hair and the secondhand clothes that she wore, but she was determined to find a job and a determined Éponine wasn't easily defeated.

Finally, she had arrived at the Café Musain after a long day of trying to find a job. She was exhausted and wanted to go back to her shambolic apartment and sleep for more than five hours. _This is the last one and then I'll go home, _she promised herself, appeasing the tired part of her brain. She walked right up to the cashier at the counter and this is how her interview went:

_"I need a job, are you guys hiring?" _

_ "Wow, aren't you a perky one?" the girl teased, a smirk playing on her seductive mouth. Her brown hair was straightened to perfection and red painted her lips, making her teeth all the more white. "Actually, we are a bit understaffed. Any previous job experience?"_

_ "Uh, not exactly." _

_ The girl gave her a skeptical look before sighing. After a beat of silence, she said, "Come back here at seven thirty tomorrow morning. If you're late, consider yourself fired." _

That's why Éponine was up at the crack of dawn, her wet hair dripping down her back as she kept a towel wrapped around her torso and brushed her teeth. She had her nicest clothes laid out on her bed: a long-sleeve black shirt with a pair of old faded jeans. Because they were the only pair that she had, they were tattered with a few holes here and there. She swore that the minute she had extra money, she would buy a nice pair of jeans that she always saw in the windows of fancy shops.

She heaved a sigh as she rolled up her sleeves, grabbed her keys, and headed out the door. Her dark shirt soaked up the heat of the early morning sun as she marched towards the café, arms wrapped protectively around herself as she dodged the strangers on the street. Looking around, she tried to calm her beating heart by reassuring herself that her father or any of his gang members were _not_ following her.

Ever since that night at the motel where she didn't sleep _at all_, Éponine couldn't shake the feeling that her father and his gang were watching her. She hated leaving her apartment because she was almost positive that she would be ambushed and beaten within an inch of her life. Her dreams were plagued with her father screaming her name and pulling her hair. It was worse when Montparnasse entered her dreams and would have her whimpering underneath him as he pounded into her.

Half an hour later, she was standing outside the coffee shop wringing her hands nervously. _Don't be worried, _she berated herself as she took a deep breath and opened the door. A bell chimed above her and the woman from yesterday looked up from what she was doing. Her lips curled up into the familiar smirk. "Hello there, sunshine!" she greeted chirpily, hopping over the counter and waltzing up to her.

Éponine didn't respond, instead shaking the hand that was extended to her, "I'm Musichetta, I run this café. And you?"

"Éponine." She answered simply, dropping her delicate hand. She wondered if Musichetta noticed how calloused her hands were in comparison to the smooth, dainty hands she shook.

"Let's get you started then." She said, leading Éponine behind the counter and showing her the coffee maker. An hour later, she was able to make a good cup of coffee (by Musichetta's standards) and a decent latte and macchiato. Musichetta, while she encouraged Éponine that her drinks were great, assigned her to cleaning and taking the cash register whenever they got swamped.

Éponine was secretly relieved that she didn't have to face too many customers because she wasn't the best "people" person. She was perfectly fine scrubbing down tables and sweeping the floor when the café went through what Musichetta called Silent Hours. These were the times when the café was mostly empty, save for the one or so old man who fell asleep at his seat while reading a newspaper.

Musichetta wasn't much for small talk, but she did take pleasure in ordering Éponine around. She especially enjoyed making her clean the bathroom, where she knew the toilet seat was covered in pee and it smelled like vomit and diarrhea all at once. However, Éponine had faired with far worse, so it wasn't as bad. With that being said, it was still horrendous.

Later in the day when the other worker left, Musichetta let her take the reins at coffee making. It was a nice break from bending over to wash tables and pick up the sugar packets that teenage girls would leave behind. Her hot beverages tasted better with each one she made, making her feel the tiniest bit better.

It was around six o'clock when Musichetta spoke to her for the first time since morning, "Hey, I have to take off. It won't be much busier so you won't be too overwhelmed. You can handle it, right?" Before Éponine could say _no, in fact I cannot do this, _the woman had left the store, the chiming echoing in the air. She rubbed her eyes with the palm of her hands and exhaled, trying not to let the responsibility of taking care of the café overcome her.

Of course, Musichetta was right in the sense that barely anyone showed up. She spotted only two people in the café and both were looking ready to leave. Glancing back at the clock, she realized that she had another two hours before closing at ten. Her eyelids became heavy, but she willed herself to stay awake in case someone else came in.

Just like that, the bell above the door rang, signaling a customer. A huge group of university students strutted in, talking loudly and causing quite a ruckus. They moved to the back of the café, shuffling tables together to make a bigger surface for them to convene around. Éponine rolled her eyes; it was just her luck that she would receive unruly customers at such a late hour.

One of the students walked up to her, and she couldn't deny how boyishly handsome he was. His golden brown hair was all tousled and his cheeks were dotted with adorable freckles that made his eyes bluer than the ocean. He smiled kindly at her, making the heat rise to her cheeks. "Hello," he greeted, looking up at the menu.

"Hi, what can I get you?" she asked timidly, embarrassed at how small she sounded. She cleared her throat and scolded herself for her weird behavior.

"I have a big order for my friends back there," he gestured vaguely to the students who were now laughing loudly as one of them acted out some sort of story, "Is that all right?"

"Of course!" she said a little too cheerfully. A blush crept up her neck as she tried to reign in her excitement.

He gave her the slip of paper with all the orders on it and she set to work, setting up the coffee machine to start the first drink. She looked back over the counter and noticed that the boy was still standing there, looking at her curiously. Noticing her stare, he smiled and said, "I'm Marius by the way."

"Éponine." She said, introducing herself for the second time that day.

"It's nice to meet you. I usually only see Musichetta working so late. Are you new?" he asked, leaning over counter. From where she was standing, she could count every single freckle that was imprinted on his face. She blushed, realizing that she had been staring for far too long without saying anything and turned back to the coffee maker.

"I just started this morning. Musichetta had to do something so she left the café in my care. It's a miracle I haven't burned the place down yet." She answered, eliciting a laugh out of the attractive lad. His laugh sounded heavenly and she wished that she could hear it again and again.

She continued making the drinks, stirring in cream and grinding coffee beans in the machine. The noise drowned out any further attempts at conversation with Marius. After a few more minutes of blending beverages, she placed all of them on a tray and walked around the counter with it balancing on her hand. He kindly led her back to the table where his boisterous friends were waiting.

"Ah, there's the lover boy!" one of them sang, clapping him on the back as he sat down. He blushed at the nickname and she felt her heart fluttering at the gesture. All of the boys turned their attention to her and she shifted uncomfortably under their gaze, "And he brought a friend."

She started to set drinks down as the students continued to talk, the level of volume growing as everyone received their drinks. When she was done dispensing all the beverages, she quietly left the boys to their business and retreated behind the counter. She cleaned the machines and wiped down the tables a few more times.

Éponine glanced at the clock and realized that it was half an hour to closing and the boys that entered didn't look like they were departing any time soon. All of a sudden, a ringing resounded behind the counter. She looked around wildly before finding a telephone hooked up under the counter. Her hands danced over the phone before she picked it up, ceasing the ringing.

"Hello, Café Musain." She greeted nervously, hoping that she had said that right.

"Oh, Éponine! Thank god you picked up!" Musichetta shrieked into the earpiece, making Éponine flinch at the sheer volume of her voice. She laughed loudly, hiccupping at the end of her statement. It was obvious that she was beyond wasted. _Really? She left me to go drinking? _"I just wanted to let you know that – hey, _stop_! – you need to close up. The keys are on the hook in the back of the kitchen – will you _stop it_! I'm _ticklish_!"

"Okay, I got it." Éponine said, pinching the bridge of her nose in irritation. She hung up before the woman could shatter her eardrum anymore. Rubbing her temples to soothe the headache that was surely coming on, she walked around the counter to check on the group in the back.

All their heads were bowed and they seemed to be talking heatedly about something. She cleared her throat, gaining the attention of the university students. "Can I get you guys anything else? We're about to close in fifteen minutes."

She began to place the discarded mugs and plates on her tray as another student spoke up, "Actually, could I get another –"

"Hey, you're a girl." A student with dark, curly brown hair said. His eyes were lit with mischief and she caught a whiff of alcohol from where he sat at the table. Her nose crinkled in disgust as she raised her eyebrows at him.

"Yes?" she asked hesitantly, afraid of where this might go.

"Tell me something," he said, stumbling over his words as he spoke, "would you or would you not fuck our dear _Enjolras_?"

Éponine grinded her teeth in fury, "Well, I certainly wouldn't _fuck _you." She huffed and slammed the check on the table before storming away. Taking the tray back to the kitchen, she dropped the mugs into the soapy water while trying not to let her temper get the best of her. Men were vile creatures, she decided. They were so condescending towards her, like she wasn't a real human being or worth any kind of respect.

The bell above the door rang, signaling that the group had finally left which meant she could clean up and be on her way. She finished the dishes and grabbed the key as she left, locking the entrance before she headed down the sidewalk. The chilly night air nipped at her exposed skin, causing her to wrap her arms tightly around herself.

The clock over the refrigerator read eleven when she opened the door to her apartment and kicked off her shoes, the exhaustion of the day's work finally settling in. Her stomach growled and she realized that she hadn't eaten since her lunch break at four o'clock. She opened the cabinet directly above her stove to reveal a box of crackers, two packs of mac n' cheese, and a bundle of bananas that had _definitely_ gone bad by now. Sighing, she grabbed the box of crackers and took them to her room.

Flopping onto her mattress, she opened the box and shoved a handful into her mouth as she picked up her battered copy of _the Great Gatsby. _This was the life, she supposed. When she thought about it, this was a hundred times better than her life a week ago. She prayed that it would stay this way for a long time.

. . .

It has been a month since she's been on her own, working at the Café Musain and her life was beginning to brighten just the slightest. It was better than waking up every day in anticipation of another beating from her father or a night spent with Montparnasse. She earned around three hundred euros for working full-time six days a week with Musichetta. Four times out of those six days, Musichetta asked her to close up so that she could leave work early. It was almost like Éponine was running the place.

It had also been a month since she first met the Les Amis de l'ABC – the pretentious name that the group of university students called themselves. They came into the café every night (or at least every night that Éponine worked) when there was usually only two hours left. Mainly, they would talk about politics and the flaws of the leaders today.

At first, she detested the Les Amis frequenting the café, but they slowly began to grow on her. After their first tiff, Grantaire, apparently the neighborhood drunk, apologized for his rude behavior the night before. Éponine found him endearing when he teased everyone and filled the room with his raucous laughter. Marius and he introduced her to the Les Amis; the first week she couldn't remember their names for the life of her, but she finally has them down.

There was Joly who was the lovable hypochondriac that insisted on carrying a tub of hand sanitizer and a first aid kit around with him. Jean Prouvaire was a romantic, but on a level that bordered on insanity. He showered Éponine with melodic poems of love every time she served him his coffee. Then, there was Bahorel who boasted often about how tough he was, and she didn't doubt the stories he would tell about his infamous fights. Feuilly was beyond passionate about his country; he was the very definition of patriotic. Courfeyrac was the biggest flirt of the group and shamelessly sold Éponine pick-up lines whenever she came over to check on them. There was Combeferre who was the sanest person of the group and was second in command next to Enjolras.

Enjolras seemed to be in a league of his own. Éponine had to admit that he was handsome; his blonde curls were weaved with gold and his blue eyes were unlike anything she had seen before. When he looked at her, his eyes would send chills down her spine and set her soul aflame all at once. He had sharp facial features and his jaw must have been made of stone. But if there was one thing that stuck out in Éponine's mind about Enjolras, it was that he had a silver tongue.

He was able to manipulate words to do his bidding. If he had more than a few hours, she felt that he could go on and on about politics infinitely. He breached many subjects but most related to doing what was best for the people. His intentions were admirable and better than most people of his status, but what did this _bourgeoisie_ know about the people? He had probably never known what it was like to go hungry or to spend a night in the gutter.

Éponine wasn't afraid to bring up these matters when they were openly discussing the issues of France. She would drop her tidbit every now and then, which led to several arguments between herself and Enjolras. While she knew that his arguments were flawed and he didn't know _anything _about spending days on the streets, she knew that he wanted the best for the country and that, at least in her book, was honorable. She also admired that he didn't treat her with inferiority. He treated her as an equal and even referred to her as a _mademoiselle _from time to time.

And finally, there was _Marius_. Dear Marius had a special place in her heart; he was devilishly handsome and charming and the way he _looked_ at her sometimes made her heart flutter. Even though he didn't show up to all of the Les Amis meetings, he always chatted her up when she worked behind the counter. His smile was contagious whenever he was around and her day always brightened whenever he stopped by to visit. Actually, with the turn of events since her escape, her days had been happier.

So when she woke with a feeling of dread, it was most definitely unwelcomed. Her morning proved that it was going to be an off day; the water was cold in the shower, her hair was frizzing so she had to put it up in beanie, and it was pouring outside. She had to jog for thirty minutes in the rain to get to Café Musain and wring her hair out in the girl's toilet. Looking in the mirror, she saw the little makeup she had put on was long gone and her hair looked even worse than it did earlier.

Then to top off the morning, Musichetta had her clean the bathroom after some teenager threw up her lunch and she spent most of the Silent Hour on her knees scrubbing the floors. Her back ached after hours of being hunched over and by the time she was done, it was already two o'clock. The other girl who had been working behind the counter with Musichetta, Jane, disappeared which left Éponine to help her out.

It was particularly busy, making Éponine deal with noncompliant customers who were impatient and crabby. She was almost sure that she had snapped at a customer at least twice, but today was one of the worst days at her job so far. She felt like breaking down at any minute and she almost did when Musichetta cut her break time in half. After the half hour of semi-relief, she was back on her feet behind the counter.

It was around four when the café died down again. Enjolras entered the café and placed his order with Musichetta: a black coffee. This was normal; he practically lived at the Musain and breathed coffee. Éponine made it quickly, too exhausted to really put a lot of effort into it. She handed it to Musichetta but she just pointed to the corner where Enjolras resided with a book in his hand. Groaning, she trudged over to where he sat and unceremoniously dropped the coffee on the table.

"Here you go." She grumbled, turning away to head back behind the counter.

"Thanks." He replied. She did a double take; was Enjolras always so polite? He didn't realize that she was looking at him because he idly sipped his coffee and returned to his book. She couldn't help but peek at the battered cover of the book. It was _Great Expectations _by Charles Dickens.

"That's a great book," she said impulsively, wishing she could take it back when she saw the look of shock on his face.

However, he composed himself and replied, "It's good so far. I have to read it for one of my classes."

"It's one of my favorites," she added. He looked at her curiously and she felt weird under his steely gaze, but she held her head high and said, "'Suffering has been stronger than all other teaching, and has taught me to understand what your heart used to be. I have been bent and broken, but, I hope, into a better shape.'"

With that, she walked away as she felt her face heat up at her sudden boldness. She retreated to the counter where she heard the familiar chime of someone entering the café. She looked up to be met with the gorgeous blue eyes of Marius. She could feel herself smiling almost immediately and she tried to contain the joy she felt when he started walking towards her.

"Hey, 'Ponine!" he greeted happily, leaning against the counter.

"Hi," she said shyly, "what brings you here today?"

"Just here to see my favorite coffeemaker," he said cheekily, "actually, I was wondering what you're up to after work tonight?"

"Isn't there some sort of meeting you're supposed to attend?" she teased, smirking when he chuckled.

"After that, I mean." He responded, "It'd be cool if we could hang out, you know, outside of the café."

Her heart started to beat faster and her breath hitched. _Oh my god, I think Marius just asked me out. Oh my god! _She tried to compose herself and offered him a smile, "Marius, I –"

Suddenly, his phone rang and he checked it; his eyes lit up as he rapidly typed a response to whomever texted him. He realized that Éponine was still there and glanced at her, "Uh…"

"Who was that?" Éponine asked lightly.

"Oh, my girlfriend, Cosette." He said, smiling while saying her name.

_Girlfriend. _Éponine didn't know her heart could break so fast. _Of fucking course. _She knew it was too good to be true. A guy like Marius would surely have a significant other. Besides, even if he was single, Éponine wasn't worth his time. Éponine wasn't worth _anything_.

"Uh, about hanging out tonight, can we do it another night? Cosette wants to watch a movie." He said.

_Forget your fucking movie. Fuck you. I would fucking like to shove your little movie about you sorry ass, you son of a –_

"Sure, we can do it another night." She said, betraying herself as he smiled at her. She tried to return it, but it probably turned out as a grimace. Before she knew it, he was already out the door before she could say anything else.

She exhaled, brushing a stray hair away from her forehead. Tears sprung to her eyes, but she wouldn't dare let them fall. She didn't have time to anyway because a line of customers had already walked in and she had to serve them. _With a smile! _Musichetta would remind her. She tried to drown her sorrows by making the caffeinated drinks.

Enjolras ordered another coffee and she couldn't help but notice that he had already made it halfway through the book since the last time they talked. She gently placed the cup beside his hand and he gave her a genuine half-smile. Not bothering to reciprocate, she marched back to her station behind the counter.

Muischetta came from around the counter with her purse in her hand, "I have to be somewhere tonight. Do you mind closing up?"

_Yeah, I fucking mind. Fuck you and your partying. Why the fuck should I do this for you, you motherfu- _

"Sure, I can do that." She replied with a grudge, forcing a smile onto her face.

"Thanks, you're the best!" she squealed, pushing the door open without a second thought.

Éponine felt like screaming her head off. When did she become a doormat for other people to wipe their dirty feet on? Maybe she hadn't changed so much since she left the Thénardier household; she still let people push her around, like she was nothing. She took deep, calming breaths and dug her fingernails into her palms to let out some of her frustrations. Unfortunately, she didn't feel the least bit better.

The bell above the door chimed and the lurid laughter of the Les Amis entered the café as they traveled to the corner where Enjolras was seated. No one needed to tell Éponine the orders since she had them memorized by heart, but Courfeyrac still came over and leaned against the counter.

"Hello beautiful, what's shaking?" he asked flirtatiously, throwing her a wink as she grinded the beans in the coffee maker.

"I'm really not in a good mood right now," Éponine admitted, trying her best not to snap at him. Honestly, he was a good friend and he was just teasing her harmlessly.

"Aw, what happened _baby_?" he cooed. _Scratch that, he's an asshole, _she thought bitterly, turning on the machine again to drown him out. Eventually, he was called over by Enjolras to start the meeting and she realized that Marius hadn't shown. It was a blessing in disguise because she didn't know if she could handle seeing him after what happened earlier.

Éponine carried the tray over to the table, being careful not to trip over anything. With the luck she had been having, she was sure something as stupid as spilling coffee down her shirt would happen to her. She was ignored by the university students as she passed out the drinks; they were in a very heated discussion and usually she would stick around to hear what they were saying, but she was ready to fall asleep.

Luckily for her, their meeting finished early and everyone decided to head out to a bar to celebrate god-knows-what. It only left Enjolras, but Éponine didn't mind since she only had half an hour left before she could finally return home and sleep for a blissful six hours. From behind the counter, she noticed that Enjolras had long ago finished _Great Expectations _and was now furiously scribbling on a piece of paper.

She had been dozing when the _ting! _woke her up, causing her to almost fall off her stool. Looking towards the door, she found the culprit of the noise – a sight that made her heart stop and her blood run cold. Brujon, a part-time member of her father's gang, stood no more than five feet away from her. His lips were upturned into a smirk and there was a sickening glint in his eye that made her anxious, a feeling that Éponine hated.

He approached her slowly, making her jump off her seat and hop over the counter. Her heart was pounding in her chest as she felt like grabbing the man and punching him for being involved with Thénardier. "What the _hell_ are you doing here?"

"Whoa there, sweetie, don't shoot the messenger." He said, laying his hand casually on her shoulder. She shoved him off, sickened by his touch. "Ah, so _that's_ how we're going to play."

"Just tell me what you want." She gritted out.

"Alright, alright. _Thénardier's_ looking for ya," he stated, "and he's pretty pissed."

Éponine grinded her teeth together. Her knees were shaking and she felt nauseous all of a sudden. She was naïve to believe that her father would leave her alone, that her happiness would last.

"Also, Montparnasse's pretty upset that you left without telling 'im." He added. If she wasn't freaking out before, she was definitely freaking out now. Her breath became shallow and there were black dots clouds blurring her vision. "He said that if he gets his hands on ya, you'll regret it."

"Get. Out." She said, trying to keep her nerves in check. He only leered at her, inching closer.

"You know, I could _not _mention to Montparnasse where you are," he offered with a smirk, "give you a little time to move away from here."

Before she had time to respond, his large hands grabbed her ass and he was nipping at the flesh on her neck. She cried out, trying to push him off of her, but his hands only squeezed harder. In a second, Brujon was thrown off of her and was receiving a swift kick to the gut from Enjolras. He stumbled back and gripped the handle on the door, but not before giving her a last warning.

"You're gonna regret that, ya little whore!" As suddenly as he came, he disappeared into the night.

Éponine was beyond hyperventilating; she was trying to hold back the sobs that were trying to escape from her. She leaned back against the counter, accidentally pushing a ceramic mug off the surface and breaking it. She jumped from the crash, cowering in the corner and covering her ears with her shaking hands.

Her father was looking for her. _Montparnasse _was looking for her. There was no doubt in her mind that if either of them found her, she would be in deep shit. Her father would beat the life out of her and surely have her working down at _the docks_ for leaving him. Montparnasse would have his way with her and he would be more brutal than normal. _Why did I ever run away? _

"Are you alright?" she looked up at the voice and saw Enjolras, the golden beauty, peering down at her. His crystal blue eyes were filled with concern as they gazed over her disheveled state. She felt pathetic.

She pushed herself off the wall and nodded mutely, brushing her knotted hair behind her ear. Walking over to the pile of shards, she began to pick them up and throw them in the trash can nearby. Enjolras stooped down to help her, glancing at her shaking form every so often. After they finished cleaning up the mess, she glanced at the clock to see it was way past closing time.

"I should probably kick you out now," she said, trying to keep her tone light although she was still shaken up and her mind was far away.

"Let me drive you home." He said suddenly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Oh no, I'm fine. I can walk home." She insisted, glancing out the door. It was relentlessly pouring down rain and the wind had picked up since earlier in the afternoon. She cringed at the thought of having to run through the storm, but she couldn't possibly impose on Enjolras. She was too embarrassed after what had occurred.

"I insist, you shouldn't be walking home alone at this time of night." He stated, leaving little room for argument.

Fortunately, Éponine did not need much room to argue, "_M'sieur_, I'm perfectly capable of walking home. I've done it every night for the past couple of weeks." She replied stubbornly.

"Please do not call me _monsieur_. I am equal to you, Éponine." He responded with the same amount of obstinacy.

"You know my name?" she asked surprised. Before today, they had barely talked except for when she occasionally talked with the Les Amis. Her name sounded differently rolling off his tongue, but she sort of liked it.

"Of course I know your name." he answered her, as if she had asked the most puerile question on the face of the earth, "You always contribute your opinion to the Les Amis and Marius mentions you from time to time. Shall we?" he gestured to the door and jingled his car keys in his hand. She silently followed, still flabbergasted that he knew who she was.

The drive to her apartment was sufficiently awkward. Enjolras didn't have any music playing and the only time there was noise in the car was when she was directing him to her home. Éponine couldn't help but notice how pristine his car was. There was virtually no trash lying around and his windows were squeaky clean. She felt dirtier just sitting in the leather seat.

He pulled up outside of her building complex and turned off the car. She should've said something along the lines of "thank you" but she only opened the door and slipped out. She didn't bothering looking back as she heard his engine rev up again to go back to his own place. Entering her apartment, she immediately went to her bedroom and slipped under the covers.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't fall asleep without her father, Montparnasse, and, strangely, the golden beauty haunting her.

. . .

Weeks passed since her unlikely encounter with Brujon and – _especially_ – Enjolras. Musichetta still frequently skipped out early from work, leaving Éponine to man the counter during the Les Amis meetings. She began picking up other people's shifts too because her cheapskate of a landlord raised her rent, making money extra tight at her household. Her one pair of jeans that she wore every day to work was faded and a few new holes appeared over her knee caps from cleaning bathroom toilets and floors.

Now after every meeting that Les Amis held, Enjolras would drive her home. He lingered when the others left early and he even came to the café when there were no meetings at all. Éponine was convinced that he was going out of his way to prove that he was a man of his word and actually meant every phrase he spewed out so righteously in front of his _amis_about _equality_ and helping those _in need. _She wasn't the least bit afraid to call him out on it the second night he waited around for her.

_Éponine grabbed the keys from the back before returning to the front where Enjolras stood. She crossed her arms and gave him an icy glare – one that she used often, "I'm not your fucking charity case." _

_ His lip twitched upwards, ghosting his face with a smile. He didn't dare let it show though as he indifferently replied, "I know. However, no one should be out alone this time of night and I have a perfectly good car." _

_ She peered over his shoulder at the darkness that clouded the streets; the sight sent shivers down her spine because she knew that these were the hours that her father and his gang would be lurking in the shadows, waiting to pounce on their prey. Chancing a glance at the man in front of her, she saw that his face remained impassive as he waited for her answer. She had an inkling that the sneaky bastard knew that she was going to take him up on his offer, which made her blood boil. _

_ "Fine," she grounded out, the word leaving a vile taste in her mouth, "but don't get used to this." _

Éponine found herself craving the end of her shifts. She oddly liked the silent car rides with Enjolras; while they had started out awkwardly, there was somewhat of a companionable silence shared between the lonesome pair. Ever since that night, they had steadily grown closer. Whenever she brought him his coffee or simply checked on him, they would talk about books (_never_ politics because that would have Enjolras ranting for a good hour). During the meetings, she found herself participating more as if she was trying to impress him. Why her opinions would affect him, she did not know but it never stopped her from giving them.

Marius still made her heart ache. He sometimes brought his girlfriend, Cosette, along to the meetings (this made Enjolras very disgruntled because he said that woman were simply a _distraction_. He never complained about her presence, she noted). It was no wonder that she was Marius' girlfriend; her beautiful blonde hair was always perfectly curled and her skin was pale and smooth. Éponine couldn't stand how lovey-dovey they were around each other; they were the embodiment of the perfect couple. Marius and she rarely interacted anymore since Cosette was finally finished with her classes so he could finally spend his every breathing second with her.

After her run-in with Brujon, she lived in constant anxiety of her father or Montparnasse finding her and doing their worst. That's mainly the reason she took Enjolras up on his offer to drive her home; it offered her some insurance that she would at least be safe on her way back to her apartment.

With the newly added hours at the Café Musain, Éponine had lost a vast amount of sleep and weight. Enjolras drove cautiously and annoyingly obeyed the speed limit, which left her turning up at her apartment around eleven. She would have her second meal (her first was spent at the café) of ramen noodles and orange juice. Then, she would fall asleep reading one of her books or thinking of Marius.

Once a week, she took her meager amount of leftover money and bought groceries at the local store. She got up early one Saturday morning before her shift at noon and slipped on a pair of ratty sweatpants and a sweater to keep out the early morning chill of July. Throwing her tangled, greasy hair up into a messy ponytail, she departed from her apartment with her worn wallet fisted in her hand.

Éponine grabbed a crate that was stacked near the door and browsed the aisles, looking for cheap food that would keep her full for the week. She only had around twenty euros to spend, so she had to use them wisely. Stuffing the crate with several packets of ramen noodles and mac n' cheese, she moved on to look at ginger ale when a particular aisle caught her eye. Her curiosity got the better of her and she forgot her search for beverages.

The shelves in the aisles held junk food: popcorn, potato chips, candy – everything Éponine craved. She had never noticed this aisle before and probably for good reason; she needed to spend her money on necessities, not the heavenly treats that surrounded her. She shook her head and turned to exit the aisle when she caught sight of the chocolate chip cookies. They were her favorite treat when she was younger and her mom made them every Sunday when they owned the inn.

Hastily, she pulled a container of them off the shelf and checked the price. _Three euros._ There was no way that she would be able to get the cookies, noodles, and ginger ale with her budget. She could always put some of the ramen back in exchange for the cookies or maybe ration the half gallon of juice she had back at her apartment. She should just forget about the cookies, but her stomach growled at the thought of tasting the _sweet_, _chocolaty_, _deliciousness_ –

"Éponine." The deep voice brought her back to reality and made her shove the box back onto the shelf. She glanced over and saw Enjolras gazing at some of the biscuits in front of him, his lips set in a deep frown.

"Hey," she said hesitantly, swinging her basket behind her legs to hide it from him, "I didn't know that you came here."

"Well, Combeferre had to go to a lecture this morning and he usually does the grocery shopping. We were low on snacks so I decided to pick some up." He shrugged nonchalantly, picking some sugar cookies and placing them in his respective crate.

"Oh," she replied, unsure of what to say since she wasn't usually one for small talk.

"Which reminds me," he began, finally turning to look at her, "I have to help Courfeyrac with something tonight, so I won't be able to stop by the Musain. Is that alright, or do you still need me to drive you home?"

The concern laced in his voice made her grind her teeth in irritation at his overprotectiveness, "I'll be fine. I can take care of myself."

"Never said you couldn't," he quipped, "I'll see you tomorrow."

Before she could grace him with a response, he was already halfway down the aisle in the other direction. She huffed, stomping to the aisle where the ginger ale was so she could leave this god-forsaken place. In twenty minutes time, she was back at her apartment and hurriedly switching her sweats for her old pair of jeans and dashing out the door again.

Éponine was ten minutes late when the bell above the door announced her arrival. Thankfully, Musichetta could care less because she was extremely grateful that at least _one_ person was there to lend a hand. She was thrown an apron and directed to the coffee machine to make three orders, giving her a migraine in less than twenty seconds of entering the facility. Work went smoothly after that; Musichetta stayed for once and actually helped Éponine clean the bathroom – the one job she _detested_.

Musichetta let her leave a few minutes early, saying that she would gladly lock up since she "owned the fucking place." Éponine only laughed as the humid summer air hit her cold skin, making her way to her apartment. It was weird walking the streets again at night without the comfort of Enjolras' car. She would deny it if anyone found out, but she actually sort of _liked_ their rides together and their miscellaneous talks at the Musain. Of course, she didn't like him like _that_, but maybe –

A dark figure stalked in her direction, making her stomach drop. She knew she was nearing the bad side of town and guys out this late at night were looking for one thing only. Her breath hitched and her arms wrapped themselves around her protectively. She didn't waste any time in turning around and speeding up her pace as she tried to recalculate her route back home.

Suddenly, a strong grip pulled her into an alleyway and shoved her up against the brick wall of the building. A fist collided with her face soon after that, followed by saliva hacked onto her cheek. She angrily wiped it off, glaring at none other than Montparnasse. He could have once been attractive with his deep brown eyes and his lean physique, but her father's gang turned him into a filthy junkie.

"You think you could run away from me, lil' '_Ponine_?" he spat at her, pinning her arms to her sides and leaning in until their faces were mere inches apart. His breath assaulted her nostrils and made her cringe, knowing that he was wasted beyond belief.

"Let me go!" she yelled, trying to break away from his grasp. She kicked at his legs but it was no use since he kept enough space between their bodies.

"You shouldn't really be afraid of _me_," Montparnasse told her, "it's your father that _really _has it out for you."

"I'm not afraid of you!" she declared fiercely, spitting right in his eye. His death grip on her arms loosened, giving her the perfect time to escape. She underestimated the time it would take for him to recover as moments later his arm wrapped around her waist and threw her to the ground.

He hovered over her, pinning her arms down once again with his knees. Hastily, he slipped the button of her jeans open and began to pull them down roughly. Her eyes widened in fear as she tried helplessly to kick him off of her; he was twice her size and probably had a hundred pounds on her. Her underwear soon followed her pants and she saw him undoing his own belt.

"_Somebody_! _Help_!" she screamed, writhing under his heavy weight. He pulled a knife from his jacket pocket and held it up against her throat.

"You say another word, _bitch_, and I'll kill you before Thénardier even has the chance!" he said menacingly, digging the blade into her skin for good measure. She silenced herself and watched powerlessly as he pushed inside of her and had his way with her. After he was done, he left her in the dark alleyway and spat on her to sweeten the deal.

Éponine couldn't bear to move. Her body limbs were shaking and her head was throbbing, but her mind was void of all motivation. Her throat was dry from all the screaming. She eventually pulled her jeans up before curling against the wall.

Alone. She always ended up alone.

. . .

Sunday was the day Éponine didn't have to report to the Musain. She was able to lie on her small mattress all day and stare at the blank wall until the sun went down. The only time she left the comforts of her room was to eat some food or to go to the bathroom. Montparnasse's knife left an angry mark underneath her jaw and there was a prominent bump on the back of her head. The next day she didn't bother to go to work. Or the day after that.

Montparnasse had assaulted her before; her father sold Éponine off to him when she was of age for a fair sum of money. She was used to his rough habits and vulgar personality; it was the single way he knew how to treat her. The only reason that she was so shaken up was because of pure shock. With her new job and home, she was lured into a false sense of security and she felt like she was slowly making a new beginning. Montparnasse's attack proved how wrong she was.

After three days of wasting away in her room, she knew she had to return to work if she wanted to continue living in her abysmal apartment. With some of the money she knew she shouldn't spend, she went to a pharmacy and bought some cream for the red streak under her jaw. Éponine braided her hair and swung it over her shoulder, hoping to hide the scar a little better. Thankfully, her black eye was barely there anymore, instead there was a little swelling around her temple. Her hair could easily hide that as well.

The hot summer air assaulted her skin and gave her a headache almost immediately as she slogged to the Musain. She used her hand to poorly block the sun's rays from reaching her eyes. Taking a deep breath, she wrenched the door to the café open and trudged up to the counter.

"Ah, she finally graces us with her presence!" Musichetta called from the back teasingly. Éponine ignored her and grabbed her apron from the hook, tying it around her slim waist.

"You're lucky I don't fire you," she continued, rounding the corner with her arms crossed under her chest, "and that you can make a great latte." Éponine couldn't help but smile a little bit at that, "_Don't_ let it happen again."

She only nodded, tuning out everything else as the machine grinded the beans to make a steaming cup of coffee. Musichetta took customers' orders and Éponine effortlessly made the beverages; she liked getting back into her old routine, like nothing had ever happened. For the next few hours on her shift, she almost forgot all about the assault and the scar that stretched along the left side of her neck.

Enjolras came in around the usual time and retreated to his seat in the back corner. Without being asked, she made up his black coffee and delivered it to the table he was sitting at. He looked up at her, his lips turning up just the slightest before they dropped again. Now, he openly gaped at her face and she knew that she had been caught. She offered him a weak smile and provided an excuse to return to her station at the coffee maker.

Now that Éponine was back at the café, Musichetta decided it was okay to leave early again and leave her to lock up for the night. She was hoping that she would get out a little bit early so she wouldn't be on the streets alone or ask Enjolras for a ride to her apartment. Before she could protest, Musichetta was out the door and the line of customers was growing.

As she was cleaning tables and picking trash off the floor, she could feel Enjolras gawking at her which made her cheeks flush. She was angry that she had been so sloppy and forgot to cover her face better. He would surely bombard her with a million questions or tell all his friends. Then everyone would pity her and treat her like some porcelain doll. Éponine would rather go back to Thénardier's than be recognized as such.

The Les Amis – even _Marius_ – made their appearance two hours before closing time and Éponine readily made their drinks before delivering them to the table. She gracefully gave everyone their drinks and in the process of doing so, she felt Enjolras – _yet again_ – staring at her. She shot him a glare which thankfully caused him to turn back to his friends. She hadn't realized that Marius had followed her back to the counter until she was seated upon her stool and he cleared his throat. He smiled down at her and when she returned the favor, her heart didn't beat like it used to.

"Éponine, I haven't heard from you in a while, how are you?"

"I've been a little busy," she admitted. _And by busy, I mean my fucking life is falling apart. _

"Me, too with all this protesting stuff that Enjolras wants us to do," he rolled his eyes theatrically before continuing, "Anyways, I was hoping that we could do something tomorrow night? Cosette is busy and since we didn't get to hang out last time, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to hang out."

Éponine grinded her teeth together and clenched her hands until her knuckles were white. Of course she would be second to Cosette. She was just a sad afterthought to him. "As much as I'd love to hang out tomorrow," she began, trying to keep her temper under control, "I can't. I have to work and I'd rather not stay out too late."

"Oh," he said, sounding hurt at her decline, "well, maybe next time?"

"Sure," she answered and gave him a small smile as he joined the Les Amis again.

Before shutting everything down for the night, she cleaned the tables one last time and threw all the dirty dishes into the sink. She twirled the café keys around her fingers as she turned off the kitchen lights and stepped out behind the counter. She immediately stopped in her tracks when she saw Enjolras waiting for her with his keys in his hands.

"Shall we?" he simply asked, vaguely gesturing to the exit. Éponine mutely nodded as she followed him to his exquisite car, looking around every so often to see if anyone was watching her. In less than ten minutes, they were already halfway to her apartment and neither of them had said anything. Usually, Éponine would utilize this time to rant about everything that happened in her day, but she couldn't find anything to say. She knew it was only a matter of time before he interrogated her about why she missed so many days of work or her faded black eye.

Enjolras cut the engine as he parked his car outside of her apartment. They both sat there, not knowing what to do. Éponine pushed open his car door at the same time he grabbed her hand. She whipped her head around to look at him and saw his magnificent blue eyes trained on her. His lips were set in a deep line and a pensive expression was etched onto his face.

"Éponine," he started, his eyes never leaving hers, "you know that I – _we_ care for you, right?"

"Of course." she answered immediately. The Les Amis were the first true friends that she ever had and even though they were odd, they were her greatest gift.

"Just remember that you can tell any of us anything and we'll be there for you." He told her sincerely, squeezing her hand for emphasis. She saw his gaze flicker down to below her jaw before meeting her eyes again, offering her a genuine smile.

At the moment, Éponine had never felt more loved in her life. The earnestness in his gaze and his words made her heart pound in her chest, spreading a warm, tingly feeling through her arms and legs. Suddenly, she wanted to tell him everything; she wanted to tell the tales of her past and try to make him understand why she was the way she is now. But she couldn't, not now. Tears sprung to her eyes and she wiped them away, turning away so he wouldn't see. He simply squeezed her hand again, not saying a single word.

"Sorry," she told him, "I don't know what's wrong with me."

"'Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts.'" He quoted, reminding her of the first day they actually met. She smiled – a _real_ smile – as she squeezed his hand in return.

"Good night, Enjolras." She said, climbing out of his car and heading up the steps to her apartment. That night, she dreamed of the sun and its warmth that enveloped her.

. . .

Another week passed and something magically changed inside of Éponine. She was more open at the Les Amis meetings and actually sat down with them instead of manning the counter (because let's be honest, no one else ever came in at this time of night.) After seeing Cosette and Marius together multiple times, the wound in her heart from unrequited love slowly healed and they didn't bother her as much anymore.

Things were changing rapidly between Enjolras and Éponine. They talked constantly and when she was on her break, he spent his lunch with her and openly talked about his ideas for revolution, among other things. Their car ride at night was Éponine's absolute favorite part of the day because it was the one time where she could stare at him and take everything about him in. His curls were messy and fell into his eyes occasionally, his facial features were angular and sharp like stone, his posture was constantly impeccable – everything about him was remarkable. Whenever he was around, her face always felt hot and her palms would sweat and her heart thumped in her chest like a hammer.

Éponine still hadn't told anyone about Montparnasse's visit or her father's gang or her mother's alcoholism. Every time she tried to bring it up to someone – mostly Enjolras – she would chicken out and come up with a pathetic excuse not to tell anyone. She was sure that someone would find out eventually, but for right now she desperately wanted to keep it a secret.

Musichetta and she were at work behind the counter, serving customers their drinks in a fast manner since it was around lunch time. The phone rang but Éponine paid no mind to it because Musichetta always answered the calls.

"Ep, do you mind getting that?" she pleaded, picking up a tray to bring to a large table in the back.

"Sure," she said, racing over to answer the call before it went to voicemail, "Café Musain, how may I help you?"

_"Meet me at the phone booth three blocks away from the café after work. Come alone." _

Just like that, the line went dead. Éponine angrily slammed the phone down on the receiver, wishing that she hadn't picked it up in the first place. Thénardier's hoarse voice burned her ear drums and made her chest constrict tightly, making it impossible to breathe. It was only a matter of time until Brujon or Montparnasse ratted her out to her father.

She could not show up at all, but that would only make him angrier. There was no way out of this without someone getting hurt; she had to face the fact that her father was going to make her life miserable once again. On top of all that, she had to find a way to tell Enjolras that she didn't need a ride tonight with as little interrogation as possible.

"_Éponine!_ Snap out of it!" Musichetta's voice trilled in her ear, turning her around and shoving her back towards the coffee machine. She returned to robot mode where she was able to make several cups of coffee in mere minutes, but her mind was racing with thoughts of what would happen tonight.

As Éponine was relieved of duty for an hour, Enjolras entered the café and took his usual seat in the back. She slowly made her way over to him, trying to come up with some excuse to get out of their car ride tonight. He spotted her across the room and waved her over, a ghost of a smile on his face.

They chatted as they shared lunch but Éponine couldn't help but fidget with her hands under the table. She still hadn't come up with a reason to ditch him tonight and her lunch break was over in five minutes. Glancing away from her hands, she saw that Enjolras was still rambling about something his professor said that ticked him off. She watched as he waved his hands around and licked his lips as he tried to form words for his story.

"Éponine, you're being awfully silent." He told her, breaking her out of her deep thoughts. It was true; usually she'd be the one talking his ear off, not the other way around.

"Sorry, I guess I'm just tired." She shrugged. It was silent between the two as he sipped his coffee; she took it as an opportunity to speak, "I don't need a ride to my apartment tonight."

"Why not?" he asked, surprise laced in his voice.

"Musichetta and I are going out after work. She's practically dragging me along to this bar." The lie rolled off her tongue easily, but left a repulsive taste in her mouth. Enjolras eyed her for a moment before simply nodding in understanding.

Éponine went back to work after spending a few extra minutes with him. Night neared sooner than she wanted and Musichetta told her that she was free to go once she wiped down the tables again. As she cleaned the already pristine surfaces of the table, her heart pounded in her chest and she felt like throwing up. How was she supposed to go through with this? Surely her father would make her go work for him on the docks and she'd be stuck taking care of her alcoholic mom again.

After she finished, she untied her apron painfully slow and bid Musichetta a goodnight. Éponine shoved open the door and made her way to the phone booth that was stationed a few blocks away. Her mind was running a thousand miles a minute as her feet carried her towards her impending doom. The phone booth loomed a few feet ahead of her under a flickering light post.

Éponine waited a long time for her father to show up, leaning against the metal box while counting down from a thousand to calm her nerves. Her hands fidgeted with the ends of her shirt and her legs couldn't stop shaking. She thought about leaving but she knew her father would come to her apartment in the night and make the punishment ten times worse. Then she thought about calling for help, but who could she possibly call? She didn't know anyone's number and no one could stand up to her father.

Suddenly, something tapped her on the shoulder, turning her around to come face to face with Thénardier. She opened her mouth to say something but was halted when a sharp stab of pain surfaced in her abdomen. She looked down and saw her father had plunged a knife into her stomach. Grabbing her face, he shoved it upward to make her look him in the eye as he snarled.

"This is what ya get for leavin' me, ya whore. 'm giving ya a slow, painful death for betrayin' me." He rambled, finally pulling the knife out as she slumped to the ground. Her small hands immediately went to the wound and applied pressure, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. She was kicked to the side by one of her father's men who had crept away from the shadows. Several men surrounded her, including Montparnasse, and began to kick her repeatedly. Her body flooded with pain as she tried to crawl away from the men, only to be shoved harder towards the concrete.

Shouting in the distance made everyone freeze. Éponine opened her eyes to see a few dark shadows in the distance.

"Shit, what do we do?" one of the men asked.

"We leave 'er. She'll bleed to death. Come on!" one of them shouted. Their boots pounded on the pavement as they sprinted in the other direction, leaving Éponine alone on the street. Her hand feebly went to her stomach where the wound was; she was still bleeding heavily and it was only a matter of time before she passed out.

The shadows from earlier came closer to her and appeared to be shouting. She couldn't understand a word they were saying as her vision became clouded. _I'm going to die, _she thought miserably, _I'm going to die in the middle of the street. _It was sad really; she had so many things to experience and they were taken away from her in a second.

Faintly, she felt someone place a hand over the wound on her stomach. The voices sounded more far-off as the seconds ticked away. Black dots invaded her vision even though she tried urgently to keep her eyes open. Abruptly, everything went dark.

. . .

_Beep. _

_ Beep._

_ Beep._

Slowly, Éponine's eyes flutter open to reveal a blatantly white room. _Where am I? _She looked around, taking in her surroundings and trying not to freak out. She lay on a white cot, her left hand wired to a machine that had glowing numbers and letters. Next to her was an empty chair that had a few wrinkled magazines on it. She'd never been in a place so clean before or one that smelt so strongly of sanitizer.

She was in a hospital.

_Beep. _

Why was she in a hospital? She tried to sit up and get out of the bed when an acute pain ripped through her torso. Cautiously, she lied down again and peeked into the sheet that covered her naked body. She saw gauze wrapped tightly around her abdomen and a faint red spot near her hip bone. Everything came flooding back to her: _Thénardier__ stabbed her. Hands covered in red. Shadows in the distance. Death coming closer. _

_ Beep. _

How did she end up in the hospital? She should be dead or at least still on the street. Were the shadows actually people? No, she was imagining things. Who would help someone as worthless as her? Maybe she was dreaming, maybe her father didn't actually stab her, maybe –

Enjolras opened the door to her room and gently closed it, juggling two plastic cups in his palm. When he laid his eyes upon her, he froze where he was. He looked terrible – his blonde curls were disheveled, there were dark bags under his eyes, and there was some stubble growing on his chin. Still, he seemed a thousand times more put together than she ever felt.

_Beep. _

"Éponine," he said, relief evident in his voice, "I'm glad you're awake."

He marched over to her and removed the magazines from the chair to sit down. He placed the cups on the table beside her bed before scooting his chair closer to her, "What –"

"I called the guys earlier. Courfeyrac, Marius, and Cosette are on their way and Grantaire and Combeferre are picking up some lunch for all of us. I would've done so earlier but I didn't want you to be alone when you woke up." He explained hastily.

"How did I get here?" she croaked. Enjolras delicately handed her one of the plastic cups filled with water which she greedily sipped from.

"When you left the café, I knew something was up. I asked Musichetta about you going to the bar, but she didn't have the slightest idea what I was talking about," he gave her a pointed look which made her turn away ashamedly, "so I asked a few of the guys to find out where you were going."

"Oh," she said weakly, tucking a stray hair behind her ear. How was she supposed to tell him that she went to go meet her abusive father? "Enjolras, I –"

"You don't have to talk if you don't want to," he cut her off, giving her a smile, "we can talk about it when you're ready."

Silence lapsed between them, causing him to pick up one of the magazines and flip through them. Éponine couldn't help but stare at him. _We can talk about it when you're ready. _Her heart fluttered in her chest at his words. Enjolras was the first man who was truly kind to her and treated her as an equal. How could she be so _blind?_

"Enjolras," she whispered as she took hold of his hand. He gazed at her small hand grasping his own before looking up at her. Softly, she brought her hand up to his face and leaned forward, pressing her lips lightly to his.

The kiss was different from the hurried, sloppy ones that she gave to Montparnasse. It was slow and tender and passionate and it made Éponine feel like she meant _something_. His fingers slipped into her hair, gently scratching the nape of her neck. Her other hand reached out to cup his face and draw small circles underneath his jaw line. Slowly, they both pulled back, leaning their foreheads together.

"'You are in every line I have ever read.'" She mumbled against his soft lips. He chuckled, the sound vibrating against her nose as he leaned in to capture her lips once more.


End file.
